


Pas de Deux

by smangtheterrible



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Illiad - Fandom, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - High School, Ballet, Ballet AU, Drug Use, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, High School AU, M/M, Modern Day, ballet dancer Achilles, ballet!Achilles, dance au, dancer!Achilles, i hate nicknames, no nicknames
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4061128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smangtheterrible/pseuds/smangtheterrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m going to be the best dancer that ever lived,” the boy said. The way he said this in a straightforward manner, so calmly, not gloatingly but like it was just the plain and simple truth shocked Patroclus. The Earth was round, the sky was blue, and he was going to be the best of them all.<br/>He could very well be right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a dancer, nor do I claim to know anything about ballet. Please inform me of any errors.

It started with Briseis approaching him at lunch looking particularly guilty during the first week of school term. Patroclus flicked his eyes over her once as she approached, and looked back to his food which he was unpacking.

“What do you want,” he said flatly. She dropped her own lunch next to his and straddled the nearest chair, fingers clutching the seat back.

“Patroclus, friend Patroclus, blessed are you, tamer of the four wheeled beast, which so very few of us mere mortals-“

“You want me to drive you home from dance class now that brother Bion has shipped off to university this year.”

“Maybe,” she said between her teeth.

Patroclus inserted his sandwich into his mouth and chewed slowly, considering. Then he pointed a plastic soup spoon at her.

“I’m only going to be able to drive you for the next four weeks or so, until rehearsals pick up. Then you’re going to have to tame the big mean public bus.”

Briseis was already doing a victory dance before he had even finished speaking.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll pay for gas, and I’ll bring you lunch every day during tech week. How about that? It’s just that the bus doesn’t come until 7.30 and I hate waiting around for half an hour- ”

“It’s fine,” Patroclus said, faking exasperation. Briseis hugged him and kissed his cheek.

“But it’s my car, my music. I am in charge of the radio.”

Briseis pouted, but let it go.

 

Patroclus was a bit early, so he decided to go inside and watch the end of Briseis' class instead of waiting in the car in the dark. He loved watching her dance, always had since they were kids. He thought they were both surprised she had kept it up this long. He did not understand how she could go to school all day and then dance another four hours four days a week, as just his theatre work was enough to exhaust him, and that was far from the demanding physical work she did. Yet then again, she was one of the strongest people he knew.

The ballet academy building was big and modern with steel siding and a lot of large floor to ceiling windows that were lit up now with a warm inviting light. He had not come here since last year, and he made his way to the studio Briseis’ class used to occupy. Apparently however her class had moved elsewhere, as the large empty room was now occupied only by a single dancer, a man, a boy really, upon closer inspection, although his height had done his body great favours.

The door was propped open, and there were other dancers watching, several younger students who appeared to be waiting for their parents to pick them up, so Patroclus did not feel self-conscious about sticking his head into the room. The audience did not seem to faze the boy, who moved like no one was watching. A dancing master was moving around him slowly in a wide circle, critiquing his every move like one would work a horse. Patroclus edged into the room to watch, leaning up against the wall with his coat draped over his arms.

He did not have an inch of fat on him, every line of him was long and lean and flowing, a young tree stretching to meet the sun as only dancers bodies were, every muscle of him turned out just so. His long golden hair was tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was turning impossibly tightly, body in perfect control, however at this moment his eyes locked on to Patroclus of all people, standing there in the corner of the room, a young man who did not belong there, and Patroclus felt a jolt go through him like he had missed a step going down the stairs. Before he knew what had happened he felt his cheeks warm and every hair on his arms stood on end.

The boy for his part made the first mistake probably of his life and landed wrong but only just, long lines off balance, off kilter, legs folding underneath him as he stuttered on his feet like a young awkward deer on spindly legs; the mistake corrected in an instant so quickly Patroclus thought he may have missed it, but not quickly enough for the dance master to catch it: in their world his tiny mistake was probably the equivalent of an ice skater landing on their ass. The boy’s head snapped forward, focusing with all the intensity of one trained in his art for eight hours a day, blocking all else out, including Patroclus as the dance master called him out.

Patroclus came back to earth when he felt a chin resting on his shoulder. Briseis had found him out. Her eyes were watching the dancer too. He opened his mouth, but she was already speaking.

"He's gorgeous, isn’t he?” she said into his ear. “He’s just accepted his contract. Youngest male in 25 years to be offered one. He just got off the boat last week."

"Boat?" Patroclus said vaguely, still watching the figure moving in the center of the room.

"Figuratively. Are you here to take me home or what?"

 

After he had dropped Briseis off and he had driven home, after he had yelled to the back of the house to his Nan that he was home, after he had trudged up their creaky stairs and into his room did he collapse backwards onto his bed and allow himself to think. A young dancer was moving through his mind tantalisingly. He found the image hard to remove.

 

It took him twenty minutes of their lunch period to work up the courage to say the words before he regretted them.

"Briseis? I can take you to ballet. If you want," he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes, or he'd never hear the end of it. Unfortunately for him, Briseis was already smirking at him, one eyebrow raised.

“ _Really?”_ she said, dropping her fork. _“_ And take me home as well? Goodness, what has brought on this chivalrous behaviour, I wonder?”

Patroclus muttered something unintelligible into his lap.

Briseis snorted. "You are so full of shit, Patroclus. Your nobility is as honest as that pudding on your face- commere-" she said, already wrapping a tentacle-like arm around the back of his neck and drawing him in. With the other she licked her thumb and rubbed at the smudge on his face.

Patroclus wriggled out of her grasp, irritatingly wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"What are you, my mother?"

“Unfortunately for you, you’re going to have to settle with only seeing Mr. Nimblefeet four times a week instead of eight,” she plowed on. “Life is tough, I know. Xenia and I have set up a carpool.”

“What, and she can’t take you home as well?”

“She lives in Olympic Heights, that’s on the other side of town, and besides I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your eye candy.”

 

When he pulled the car around that evening, he actually felt a bit nervous. Like before, he arrived early. This time it was on purpose.

 

 

He smiled at him, just for him, and turned and glided across the room, arms outstretched, long middle fingers raised up, like he is taking the whole world into his arms. Then he paused, coming into complete and utter stillness, one hand on his slender hip, the other raised gracefully into an arc above his head. It took Patroclus' breath clean out of his body. The music surged, notes expressing such incredible joy, and the boy was off, moving at a diagonal across the room, spinning tightly controlled, before he leaped into the air, landing with such softness it looked effortless, a young deer on springs again. Patroclus had never seen such control, such height. He came to the end of his pass and paused on tip toe, leg extended, chin held proudly, jutting. The music cut out abruptly, and he relaxed, coming out of it like a magician removing a facade, every line of him sagging. Hands on his hips, he breathed heavily, his rib cage contracting and expanding. Patroclus could see the sweat glistening on his brow, could hear the dance master praising him, giving him advice to perfect his perfection, telling him to take the last stanza once more, _Achilles_.

_Achilles, Achilles._

Patroclus realised he had been holding his breath.

 

"You do not want to get involved with a dancer," Briseis said from the front seat on their way home, her feet up on the dashboard.

Patroclus spluttered, thinking of a million things in his defense and saying the lamest one. " _You're_ a dancer!"

Briseis rolled her eyes. "I mean male dancers, dumbass. They are the most self-absorbed, egotistical, narcissistic robots you will ever meet, and if he's gay, which the majority of them are, it'll be even worse, no offense."

"I'm not gay!" Patroclus exclaimed, coming off a tad too defensive.

"He'll have no time for you, or anyone, or any _thing_ else. Their whole lives are spent staring at their own ass in a mirror, making sure it pirouettes properly, before they retire in their 30's if they're lucky," she continued.

Patroclus mused this over. "Have you danced with him?" he ventured.

Briseis blew air out of her nose in amusement. "Hell no. I'm not a principle, Patroclus. Only the elite and worthy get to dance with Mr. Nimblefeet."

Patroclus nodded.

 

 

He can smell the scent of the dance studio in his dreams: it is the smell of sweat and elastic stretching, the smell of the pinewood floors bowing under the weight of hundreds of feet, of crushed rosin, of satin being stripped by scissor points, of joy and pain, of dust and strangely, the sharp tang of balsamic vinegar that someone was having on their salad. Dancers eat a lot of salads, Patroclus has learned, and a lot of unhealthy shit when no one else is watching.

He can smell the boy, Achilles, the waft of air he leaves behind him as he cuts through it like a knife.


	2. Chapter 2

Patroclus was sitting cross legged on the floor in the lobby, phone in his lap, waiting for Briseis to finish on Friday a week later when he felt the eyes on him. As much as he had wanted to, he hadn’t gone to watch Achilles every day, because he thought that that would be weird and a bit creepy. At most he had stuck his head in the small window in the studio door, catching a flash of him as he went past.

Looking up, he felt his stomach drop out of his belly and land somewhere in the vicinity of his lap. Briseis was standing with _him_ , talking under her breath to him as if they were old friends down the hallway. Achilles was clutching a water bottle and they were both staring at him, which was probably the worst thing of all. When Briseis saw him looking, she called his name. Somehow he was on his feet, and then they were both coming over to him.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," Briseis was saying, a note of amusement in her voice only he would recognise. Patroclus wanted to kill her.

"Hi," he managed to say lamely. Achilles extended his hand, and then he was shaking it, introducing himself, saying his name like flakes of gold rubbing against each other. He gives a firm handshake. Up close the boy was almost a head taller than him, although Patroclus was by no means short. He felt strangely intimidated, which made him frustrated, which made false confidence spill from his mouth.

"Don't mind Briseis here. She's just been gushing about how much she'd love to partner with you some day."

"I have not!" Briseis said indignantly, before catching herself. "I mean, I would love to partner with you, but I have not been gushing-"

And just like that the pressure was off. Achilles looked amused, said he would love to partner with her some day with all the air of a first year university student offering a high school freshman a pity date to the prom that was for appearances sake only. Both of them knew the pecking order in here, and dancers did not cross over. In here, Achilles was a God, and Briseis a mere kitchen girl.

Patroclus was struck by how young he looked up close; he was only a boy, but he had the muscles of a man. The term _pinhead_ came to the forefront of his brain, and he had to check himself to keep from laughing out loud. It would make Briseis laugh later, when she asks him his opinion of him up close and in the flesh. It would make her laugh because they both know it was not true. Achilles was perfectly proportioned, gorgeous from head to toe, and he knew it, and Patroclus knew he knew it. The spell was shattered.

 

When they got into the car, Patroclus got onto his knees in the driver’s seat conspiratorially to face her.

“Did you approach him or did he approach you?” he said a tad louder than he intended. “Please tell me it was the latter.”

Briseis pretended to ponder, and he almost strangled her right then and there.

“I…” she said, speaking slowly, “Did not approach him.”

“Oh my- okay. You have to tell me _exactly_ what he said.”

“He said not to tell you what he said.”

“What?! Okay so that means he must have said something about me that he didn’t want me to hear.”

“Calm downnn, detective inspector.”

“Briseis. Listen to me,” he said, deadly serious. “Who is your best friend, Briseis? Me or him?”

“I think it’s you,” she said, examining her nails.

“You owe it to me to tell me what he said. Who drives you home every day?”

Briseis dropped her hand into her lap, her head snapping up. “Is that a veiled _threat_?”

“No,” Patroclus backpedalled. “Maybe,” he hinged. “Just tell me what he said.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Who is your friend there?’”

Patroclus waited, but nothing more seemed to be forth coming.

“And??” he said between clenched teeth.

“He said you were cute and asked if you were gay.”

Patroclus felt a thrill go through him, but he kept a lid on it.

“And what did you say?”

“I said you were gay for him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I said he should probably ask you that himself.”

Patroclus shifted so that he was sitting properly in his seat and stared unseeing through the windscreen, then shifted his eyes back to her without turning his head.

“He actually said that. Those very words. You’re not just stringing me along?”

“No, Patroclus, I am not stringing you along. Now can we go home? It’s freezing in here.”

 

On the way home, Patroclus fell into deep thought. He was thrilled that someone found him attractive, who wouldn’t be, but there was something bittersweet about it, and he did not know what it was. He thought he would be over the moon that this boy he had idolised seemed to take an interest in him.

Briseis’ words from last week floated to the forefront of his mind; the words _self-centered, egotistical, narcissist_ pinged off the back of his brain like little ghosts.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had caught that vibe in full upon meeting him up close, and it was throwing up warning flags. He realised what really bothered him. He was irritated by him. It wasn’t that he was jealous of him, that wasn’t it at all. Achilles was fucking irritating, like all people who had a chip on their shoulder are. It was sort of what he imagined meeting a celebrity to be like. In the back of your brain there’s a small part of you that thinks this person cannot possibly be human, just like everyone else, and you think seeing them in the flesh will make you realise that they really are normal but when you do see them surrounded by bodyguards, photographers, dripping in wealth, it makes them just as unattainable, intangible as before. It just frustrates you. Okay, maybe he was a tad jealous. Who wouldn’t be?

 

After that, he stopped going early, instead waiting in the carpark with the heater running for Briseis to bound across the brief cold space between the heated building and the heated car. School was picking up, and he was working hard on the lighting plan for the fall musical. He had a lot on his mind other than gorgeous dancers.

 

Patroclus bumped into him in the lobby a week and a half later going to pick Briseis up. He came in the door right behind him. Achilles was in his street clothes, and Patroclus almost didn't recognise him. Almost.

Seeing him in jeans and a tight fitting azure cable knit cardigan was very strange. His hair was in what the popular colloquialism would be termed a ‘man bun’, but it just served to make him look more masculine. He looked like a douchebag. Patroclus knew that in the designer catalog he had bought the cardigan from that the colour was listed as azure, and not blue. Because that was a douchebag shade of azure. He did notice, however, that the characteristic duck walk of the dancer was something Achilles could not escape from despite his change of clothes, and this amused him for some reason.

"Hello again," Achilles said to him, managing to shake him out of his patronizing thoughts. "Daydreaming?"

"No, just mentally preparing myself to face the hoard of cutthroat perfectionists wearing tutus. Don't you get sick of all that backstabbing?"

"I have a thick back. And you wouldn't catch me in a tutu."

"Oh, I'm sure you manage just fine without one," Patroclus said, smirking, and he went to pull open the door to the inner hallway. "No class today?" he said over his shoulder.

"I took a break, I had to take care of something."

"Yet here you are again," Patroclus said under his breath, more to himself.

"Yes, well, I live here," Achilles said.

"You do?" Patroclus said incredulously, before he realised stupidly that this was impossible. It was Achilles' turn to smirk.

"Figuratively," he said, catching his eye, before moving past him and disappearing into a room. The door clicked softly behind him.

 

Patroclus sat down to wait. He was ten minutes early today, and he didn’t feel like burning petrol for that long.

He heard a door swinging open, and he looked up. Achilles had stuck his head out of the same door and had latched onto him several metres down the hallway. Patroclus stared back at him, his face blank with surprise.

"You should come watch me while you wait," he shouted down the hall.

"Why, you need someone else to stroke your ego?" Patroclus replied without thinking, before mentally slapping himself in the face. Achilles, curse him, was grinning at him, and then he was duck walking down the hall towards him, ballet slippers padding on the carpet. He was wearing his spandex again. He must have had it on underneath his clothes. He came to stand over him. Patroclus mentally cursed him again.

"When I fall on my ass, you'll be there to see it," he said evenly.

"You never fall on your ass," Patroclus said, getting up to follow him resignedly. The dance master was not there. No one was there except for the two of them. Patroclus leaned against the wall like he had that first time and crossed his arms. Achilles began to go through the motions of warming up and stretching, first sitting, then moving to the barre.

“You distracted me, the first time I saw you. Not many people can do that.”

“I have that effect on most people.”

Achilles snorted.

“How old are you?” Patroclus found himself asking.

“How old do you think I am?”

“I’d say sixteen.”

“A month ago.”

“What?”

“I turned sixteen a month ago. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“And what do you do?” Achilles asked him as he bent his body in half, reaching to the floor. Even from where he stood Patroclus could see the vertebrae standing out on the back of his neck. The question, however, stumped him.

“I go to school.”

“That’s it?”

“I do theatre.”

“You’re an actor?”

“No, technical theatre. I do lights and props and stuff.”

“I know what technical theatre is,” Achilles said, but he didn’t manage to sound condescending when he said it. “You’re an only child?” he continued.

“Yes, how did you know?”

“A guess. I see you stare at the younger children sometimes when you come to pick your friend up, like you aren’t completely comfortable around them.”

_He sees much._

“Maybe I am just surprised how such young people can be so talented.”

“Are you surprised about me?”

“Are you digging for praise?”

Achilles turned and grinned at him. “You don’t have a very high opinion of me. Why?”

Patroclus opened his mouth, shut it, and then opened it again. “I think you’re full of yourself. You don’t need me to tell you how good you are, you already know it. You get told that every day.”

“Well, I’m going to be the best dancer that ever lived.” The way he said this, so calmly, not gloatingly but like it was just the plain and simple truth shocked Patroclus. _The_ _Earth was round, the sky was blue, and he was going to be the best of them all._ The thing was, he could very well be right.

He scoffed. “Modesty is a virtue.”

“Modesty gets you nowhere. Why lie when it’s the truth?”

“You’re not the best yet. Maybe someday. But not yet.”

Achilles turned and looked at him, locked eyes with him. He had moved away from the barre now, and was slowly moving through the space to the apparent music in his head like a river flowing, his body rolling, muscles flexing. Patroclus found his eyes glued.

“You should come say hello whenever you come to pick Briseis up. You shouldn’t hide in your car.”

At this, Patroclus became indignant.

“I do not _hide_ -“

At this moment the door to the studio swung open.

 Patroclus turned around quickly and realised with a shock that Briseis was standing there. Behind her a flood of girls were going past, chattering, heading home.

"I can leave you two and walk home, if you want," she said pointedly.

"Bri, I'm sorry, I completely lost track of time," Patroclus said.

"Yeah, he has that effect on people, doesn't he," she said, loud enough for Achilles to hear. He gave a little wave, but didn’t stop dancing. Achilles' eyes were on his retreating back as he danced, before they quickly flicked away to focus on a blank spot on the wall. They left him alone to his empty studio.

 

“Bones picked?” Briseis asked in the car. Patroclus shrugged.

“Mostly he just wanted me to kiss his ass.”

“And did you?”

“What do you think?”

“Atmosphere in there was only tepid. I’d say…you took him down a notch.”

“With his ego, I don’t know if that’s even possible.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was just after one p.m. and Patroclus was in the school theatre, alone up on a catwalk by the fly rail, a ten kilogram pig iron weight in his hands which he was in the midst of removing from the fly.

"So this is your domain," a familiar voice said from below. Patroclus nearly dropped the weight he was holding in surprise. Down below on the empty stage was Achilles, staring up at him. Patroclus went to the railing.

"What are you doing here?"

"Don't flatter yourself. My dad works here."

Patroclus sucked in his breath. "Is he a-"

"Teacher, yeah. History."

Patroclus racked his brains. "Mr. P is your father?"

Achilles grinned from below, hands on his hips. "You got me."

"But you don't go here. I've never seen you here before."

Achilles shook his head. "Homeschooled. Since I was seven. If you can call it that. I get two hours a day. The rest is dance."

"Don't you get...I don't know..."

"Tired?"

"I guess. I've never loved something so much that I devoted my whole life to it."

"It's like a drug for me, Patroclus," he grinned up at him. "I'm addicted."

Patroclus could only turn back to the task at hand. "Stand back."

"Why?"

"Because I'm loading this rail and if I dropped this thing it could kill you."

Achilles stepped back a few feet, neck still craned.

"Further," Patroclus instructed. "All the way to stage right. These things can bounce like fifty feet."

Achilles complied.

"Loading!" Patroclus shouted again, even though the theatre was empty except for him and Achilles. He finished his task and came downstairs onto the stage to find Achilles moving slowly across the space, dancing in his street clothes, arms outstretched. When Patroclus entered, he went to one knee dramatically, one hand pressed to his chest in supplication, the other extended to Patroclus with a yearning.

"It’s refreshing speaking to someone who knows stage right from left. You never stop, do you?"

"I cannot resist an empty stage, it’s true."

"What did you want?" Patroclus found himself asking.

"Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd come by and ask if you wanted to flee the horrors of the school mess and go get lunch somewhere more palpable."

“Don’t you mean palatable?”

“I told you: homeschooled. Yes or no?”

 _Why?_ Patroclus almost said, but instead he resisted the urge to gape and said "Sure" as if they did this every Wednesday.

 

 

"So what _do_ dancers eat?" Patroclus asked as they stepped up to the counter to order.

"Freshly blended spinach in the morning, and two whole chickens throughout the rest of the day," Achilles said flippantly. To the lady at the counter, he said "I'll have the grilled chicken wrap, please."

Patroclus ordered the same.

"What's great about dancing eight hours a day, is that you can literally eat anything and it just burns right off. But I prefer to eat healthily," he said as they sat down. "What show are you doing?"

"Little Shop of Horrors," Patroclus answered.

"Ah yes, the flesh eating plant."

"I hate musicals," he continued loathly.  Our plant puppets look like something a six year old drew."

"Kind of the point, isn't it?"

"We had an orchestra gig on the 15th, which means we can't start building until after that. That gives us-" Patroclus counted in his head. "About two weeks to put the set up. In total. And hang the lights."

Achilles was smiling at him, his eyes dancing in amusement.

“The puppets aren’t coming until tech week, because another school is using them, which means we’ll have five days to rehearse with them. We can’t find a dentist chair. We’ve looked everywhere. We’re short on crew. There’s only seven of us, that’s including the two spot operators. That means I’m going to have to run sound cues as well. Which are on a different system, I might add. One of the Doo Wop Girls has severe tonsillitis, and I think we’re going to have to replace her. Hey, you could fill in, you’d make a great Doo Wop Girl.”

“I probably would,” Achilles said seriously, completely unfazed. “Unfortunately I’m busy. Winter showcase is fast approaching.”

“It’s September,” Patroclus said confusedly.

“Mm, three months, less than, actually. That’s no time at all.”

“Hey, we were talking about me here.”

“Oh sorry, please continue.”

Patroclus took a bite out of his wrap, chewed twice and kept on talking through a mouthful of food.

“So the drama teacher comes up to me yesterday, and is like, ‘Patroclus, we need all the red and blue gels for the orchestra gig. You can’t have them yet, you can’t move them. And I’m like fine, I’ll just _redesign_ the whole lighting without red and blue, and he’s like, ‘no, I didn’t say you can’t have them, I said you can’t have them _yet_ , we’ll do it all during tech week,’ that’s what they always say, _we’ll do it all during tech week._ And I’m like easy for you to say, go back to grading your Hamlet essays, you pretentious, son of a-“ 

Achilles was watching him closely with this expression on his face Patroclus could not place. It was only when their hour was up and they went back to their own respective lives- Patroclus to the theatre, Achilles to the studio, that he realised what the expression was. _Endearment._ He was looking at him _endearingly._

 

 

"So you'll never guess who came by yesterday," Patroclus said to Briseis from where he lounged across her bed, one foot bouncing where it rested against the wall.

"Who."

“I’ll give you a hint. Douchebag, golden flowing locks of goldiness.”

Briseis processed this, her brow furrowing.

“Likes to look at his own reflection,” he added.

 She squawked at him then. “And you’re just telling me this now? What did he want?”

“He asked me to lunch.” Briseis was clawing at him now like an excited dog from her place on the carpet. He fended her off, still speaking.

“It was…nice, actually. I whinged at him about the musical for an hour. He listened. His whole life is focused only on one thing. I get the feeling he wants something else as a distraction sometimes. I know I would.”

Briseis rolled her eyes. “Oh, Patroclus, you can be so dense sometimes!”

“What?” Patroclus said indignantly.

“He likes you! He said so himself! Why else would he want to have lunch with you?”

“He just happened to be around. Did you know his dad is Mr. P?

“Are you even listening to me? Wait, his dad is the history teacher?"

“Surprised me too.”

“He looks nothing like him.”

“Well, there aren’t very many middle age male models in this city.”

“No I’m serious. I see no resemblance. Do you?”

Patroclus shrugged.

 

 

 

He was on his knees, braced on his forearms, his face a foot above the stage, poring over the floor plan days later when Achilles made him jump. Again.

“You wear glasses?” he had said.

Patroclus yelped and sat up quickly, removing his glasses as he did so, partly in embarrassment, partly so that he could see the boy.

“No, they’re just a fashion accessory,” he said dryly, gesturing to them. "Must you always scare the shit out of me?''

"Sorry," he said, coming over to stand over him, not looking sorry at all.

"What's this?'' Achilles asked, looking over the plan lying flat on the stage which was being kept from rolling back up into a tight scroll by a metre stick, a roll of masking tape, a hammer and a half eaten bag of corn chips.

"I'm mapping out the set plan so we can start building today."

"I thought you were on lights? You’re always in here alone."

"Only seven of us, remember? I'm a jack of all trades. We have tech in an hour, I usually like to work in here when it’s quiet to get more crap done."

"Have you had lunch?"

Patroclus gestured to the bag of corn chips and Achilles _tsks’d_. He went to sit down across from him, folding his long legs underneath him.

"I brought you something better than corn chips."

"Ahh, you're a godsend! I need to return the favour, that’s twice now you’ve gotten me food."

“Don’t worry about it,” Achilles said as he dug into his bag and handed him a container with vegetable lasagne inside still steaming from the local coop. Then he took out his own salad.

"What is _that_?" Patroclus asked, sticking his nose into the other boy’s food.

"Wheat berry," Achilles said through his mouthful. Patroclus gave him an affronted look.

"Pretentious..." he said under his breath.

"What was that?" Achilles asked, leaning closer.

"Nothing."

"May I remind you who brought you your lunch?"

"They look like little mouse poos."

"Hey!"

"I can't believe you can eat anything and you eat that."

"I said I _can_ eat anything, not that I choose to. And it’s good! Want to try?"

"I'll stick to my lasagne, thanks."

“Just try it!” He waggled his biodegradable spork in his direction. In acquiescence, Patroclus opened his mouth, and in the spork went.

He chewed, frowning. “They taste like chewy nothing.”

“ _YOU’RE_ a chewy nothing!”

“Nice.”

 

 

When they had finished eating, Patroclus showed him how to lay out the set from paper to the stage using chalk and a metre stick. Transcribing the lengths from paper to reality, together they measure out where the walls were going to go, taping them out with masking tape. They screwed up twice and had to pull the tape up, which Achilles rolled into a ball and threw at him. There was a lot of laughter and cursing and rubbing out of jagged chalk lines.

 By the time the hour was nearly up, they were barely halfway done.

“I really want to draw a giant penis on the stage in chalk,” Achilles said from where he was lying flat on his back in the vast space of the stage. Patroclus was lying almost perpendicular a foot away, staring up at the Heavens.

“Do _not_!”

“What? It’ll rub out!”

“The drama teacher knows I’m the only one in here during lunch period. How do you think that would play out?”

“Oh yeah. What are those things?” he said pointing upwards. Patroclus scooted backwards, propelling himself with his feet so that he could see what he was pointing at up between the rails.

“Clouds.”

“I’m serious, what are they?”

“They’re called Clouds, the big white things? They reflect sound to the back of the theatre.”

“No wonder the school district doesn’t have any money, they’re spending it on those stupid things.”

“We’ll they’re for the orchestra mainly so I don’t really have an opinion.”

“Oh.”

“Were you trying to offend my thespian sensibilities?”

“No,” Achilles said indignantly. Patroclus merely snorted.

Patroclus heard him open his mouth, but it was a moment before any sound came out.

“Would you like to come over? This weekend?”

“And do what?”

He felt Achilles shrug. “What do you normally do on the weekend?”

“Saturday I’ll be here, at the build. Sunday…nothing. Homework.”

“Come and do nothing and homework, then.”

“I have a better idea, you should come to the build tomorrow; it’s open to everyone.”

“I can’t, I have practice.”

“On a Saturday? That’s blasphemous.”

“Six days a week…”

“What time on Saturday?”

“11.30”

“Come at 9. There will be free doughnuts. Bring clothes you don’t mind getting paint all over,” Patroclus said.

He felt Achilles turn his head to look at him. Patroclus turned his head too. “And I’ll come over Sunday, if you like.”

“I like.”


	4. Chapter 4

Achilles showed up promptly as promised, clutching two coffees in brown disposable cups, one of which he handed to Patroclus. He was wearing a faded Led Zepplin shirt riddled with holes and holey acid wash jeans.

“Are those artfully full of holes, or accidentally full of holes?” Patroclus asked, pointing. Achilles looked down at his jeans.

“Artfully, but I don’t care if I get paint on them. It’ll add to the effect. The shirt was my father’s.”

“Right.”

Patroclus handed him a roller and a tray instructed him on what do to, of which the guidelines were practically nonexistent.

“The set’s supposed to be slummy so it doesn’t really matter. We’re going to tag it with graffiti later.”

There was music booming over the sound system. The woodshop instructor was in there overseeing the construction by the students. He was helping Patroclus and two other students, a boy and a girl to construct the stoop, helping them hold the panels together as the students drilled. Patroclus had a tool belt slung low on his hips and his button up work shirt was rolled up to his elbows. He was wearing his glasses so he could see what he was screwing into place. Achilles found it difficult to focus on his painting. He watched as Patroclus pretended to drill the other boy, his finger compressing the trigger of the electric screwdriver so that it whirred angrily. Laughing, he looked up and made eye contact with Achilles, who smiled at him. Patroclus stuck his tongue out at him.

“How’s it going?” Patroclus said when he came to check up on him later. Achilles was painting the underside of the fire escape now, and was finding it difficult to do so without dripping on himself. Patroclus took one look at his face and laughed when he saw him up close, at the tiny galaxy of red paint splatter that decorated his face like blowback from an execution.

“I said paint with it, don’t swim in it!”

“This stuff better be non-toxic,” Achilles said. Patroclus reached over and swiped a thumb across a larger dot just below his left ear to remove it. Achilles reached over and ran his paint roller up Patroclus’ arm, leaving a long red streak.

“Hey!”

Patroclus ducked and reached behind him to wipe his wet arm along Achilles’ ass before running away. So the morning went.  

 

“Is it legal for me to come over to a teacher’s house?” Patroclus asked as he stepped over the threshold of Achilles’ home on Sunday.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Achilles said, holding the door open.

“This feels weird. Like I’m breaking the fourth wall or something.”

“Dimension, you mean? Fourth dimension?”

“Seventh dimension? How many dimensions are there again?”

“You’re the one taking physics, not me.”

“I’m taking chemistry, not physics.” Patroclus took note of the interior of Achilles’ house for the first time. “This is nice. Really nice. Are you rich or something?”

“Uh, I guess you could say that.”

“So when you say you are homeschooled…”

“I have a rich boy tutor, yeah.”

“And your dad’s a _history teacher_?” Patroclus said in disbelief as they climbed the stairs.

“The money is in the family. He didn’t get it teaching history. Obviously. It just lets him do what he loves.”

“And your mother? What does she do?”

“Mother moved away. She lives on the coast. She’s a marine biologist. She comes back to visit regularly, she’ll be here for my winter showcase. What do your parents do?”

“Uh, they don’t do anything, actually. I mean, they are dead. Deceased. I live with my N- Aunt,” Patroclus said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Achilles said looking back at him as they reached his room. “You never told me that.”

Patroclus shrugged. “Never came up I guess.”

“Can I ask how they died?”

Patroclus nodded. “My mother was a bit- not all there. She died not long after I was born. My dad disowned me when I was ten. I was in a shit living situation then, and had a lot of, like, anger issues? Anyways it was not a match made in heaven. He did a lot of, uh, drug stuff. His older sister took me in then. He died of an overdose two years later.”

“Shit, that sucks,” Achilles went to sit on his bed. “I can’t really imagine you with anger issues.”

“Just ask Briseis,” Patroclus said, smiling a little.

“You’ve known each other a long time?”

“Mm. She’s like my sister. I used to turn up at her house when I was a kid, begging her to let me stay, to adopt me even. She always took me in, her family, but it never lasted long. Anyways, how did we get on this depressing subject?”

Patroclus had been walking around the perimeter of his room while he spoke, taking it in. It was a nice room, very minimalist, with a large bay window looking out to the street. The most unusual thing about it was the home made ballet barre stuck to the bare wall, which made Patroclus smile. A large comfortable looking reading chair stood in the corner, next to it was an acoustic guitar on a stand. A large armoire took up the wall opposite the window. The only other furniture in the room besides his bed were two shelves of books, and a small desk that looked more decorative than anything. It was covered in potted succulents. He noticed underneath the desk was a computer monitor that looked like it hadn’t been used in quite some time, complete with mouse and dusty keyboard. The fact that it was no longer in use led him to believe its purpose was for one thing and one thing only. Patroclus lodged this in the back of his brain to ask about later.

"You play?" Patroclus asked, trailing his fingers over the guitar.

Achilles nodded.

 _Of course he'd be a guitar douchebag_ , Patroclus thought to himself.

"What are you thinking?" Achilles asked.

"Nothing," Patroclus said, surprised.

"Your face is very transparent, did you know? When you are thinking something it’s like I can almost see it."

"Oh," Patroclus said, because he did not know what to say.

"And now you are blushing."

"I'm not!" he said, blushing harder. Achilles laughed lightly and left it.

Patroclus stood at the barre and assumed the position, looking up at Achilles to make sure he was doing it right, raising an eyebrow in question. Achilles watched him with amusement from his bed, one foot flat on the covers.

“Put your shoulders back.”

Patroclus attempted to comply.

“Not like that, don’t turn yourself into a bow, here-“ Achilles picked himself up and moved across the room to stand next to him. He placed one hand delicately underneath his chin to raise it, the other he placed gently on his lower back.

“Picture your vertebrae like books, stacked one on top of another. If they aren’t stacked properly, they will fall. Don’t let them fall.”

“Yes, Master,” Patroclus intoned in a deep evil villain voice.

“Keep your stomach sucked in.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

Achilles ignored him, continuing to make minute adjustments to his posture.

Then he took him through the positions of the feet, standing behind him, long fingered hands placed carefully on his waist, occasionally placing a finger underneath his arms to direct where they should go. Patroclus kept his lips sealed, pressed together, trying hard not to laugh because Achilles was taking it so seriously. Patroclus did okay until he got to fifth position when Achilles swooped down and attempted to wrench his ankles into place.

"Ow! My ankles don't twist like that!"

Laughing, he nearly tripped.  Achilles steadied him, looked up at him from where he was crouched at his feet. He stood slowly, coming to stand just behind him. Patroclus realised how close they were. Achilles’ gaze was boring into him, his blue green eyes flicking over his own, back and forth.

Suddenly, Patroclus felt terrified, like he couldn’t take his gaze any longer. Achilles seemed to read something in his face, and just like that there was more space between them. They were still very close, but it no longer felt oppressive. They were saved by the sound of a door slamming shut downstairs, and the sound of someone leaping up the stairs two at a time.

“Pelides?” a deep male voice boomed. “Is Patroclus-“ before he could finish the sentence, Achilles pulled open his bedroom door to face his father.

“Oh,” his father said. “Hello, Patroclus.”

“Hi, Mr. P.,” Patroclus said awkwardly to the beefy bearded man.

“Good you’re finally here, Achilles here hasn’t shut up about you arriving all weekend,” he said, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and shaking him gently so he seemed to rattle exasperatingly.

“I didn’t-“ the boy started to say, but his father was talking over him, still holding him in a side hug.

“I was just wondering if you boys would like some lunch, there’s pasta on the stove.”

Achilles’ father asked him how his studies were going politely as they made their way downstairs before excusing himself to his study, bowl in hand.

Achilles hopped up onto the kitchen counter and proceeded to eat his spag bol out of a cereal bowl, bare feet dangling. Patroclus leaned against the kitchen island opposite.

“So,” Patroclus began. “I couldn’t help but notice the monitor under your desk.”

Achilles stopped chewing briefly.

Patroclus raised an eyebrow. “What’s your poison?”

“TTC mostly,” Achilles muttered.

“Ha!” Patroclus exclaimed. “I knew it!”

“But I haven’t played in ages, probably over a year. I never have time anymore.”

“Well, don’t you think we should rectify that?”

“You want to play?”

“No, I want to kick your ass.”

“Oooh, I see how it is.”

“Do you have another monitor?”

“Yeah I can borrow one from my father’s study.”

Patroclus chuckled suddenly and put down his fork; he stepped across to Achilles to take hold of his arm to turn it gently.

“You still have a bit of paint on you.”

“I have paint in places you wouldn’t imagine.”

 “That’s what you get when you wear jeans full of holes. What did your dance master say when you showed up covered in paint?”

Achilles shrugged. “Anything not about the dance is not important.”

“They sound like a barrel of laughs,” Patroclus said.

 

 

“You are giving off the scent of fear,” Patroclus said when they were back upstairs. The whites of his eyes were showing. “I can smell your pheromones from half a league away.”

Achilles was shaking his head at him as he plugged in the second computer. “You are too weird.”

The second monitor was on a coffee table in the centre of the room, low to the floor. He was going to sit on a beanbag Achilles had retrieved. Achilles meanwhile had moved all his plants off his desk.

The graphics for _Trojan Towers Combat_ came onscreen, complete with bad theme song. A manic gleam had come into the eye of Patroclus, and for once Achilles appeared submissive.

“You seem pretty confident,” he said casually. “Are you sure you’re not overestimating your skills?”

“Do birds fly?” Patroclus retorted.

 

Two and a half hours later, Achilles’ father poked his head through the door.

 “Fuck!” Achilles cursed, and Patroclus cackled maniacally.

 “I thought the whole point of having friends over is that there would be some interaction,” his father said from the doorway.

“We are interacting, I am kicking his ass.”

“He is not!”

“I just killed you three times,” Patroclus said without removing his gaze from the screen, clicking furiously.

Achilles father disappeared, smiling.

 

 

They spent the rest of the day playing, and the time went very quickly. Patroclus kicked his ass again several times and Achilles didn’t seem to even care.

“I should go home,” Patroclus said from his victorious position atop his bean bag.

“Noo, don’t do that,” Achilles said from his prostrate position on the floor. It was getting dark. Patroclus reluctantly gathered up his bag.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Achilles asked, latching on to his trouser cuff as Patroclus went by. Patroclus shook his head.

“I have to focus on the show now, on helping with the set and everything. I can’t pick Briseis up until after tech finishes.”

“Oh. Well I want to come see your show."

"What? Why? You won't be able to see me, you know."

"Because I want to support something you've worked so hard for. I want to see your beautiful lights. I’ve gotten Friday night off the week after next.”

“That’s opening. I wish you had told me, I gave my comp tickets away already. I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“That’s okay, I want to support the arts,” Achilles said, pulling himself off the floor and coming to stand.

He went to hug Patroclus goodbye, which surprised him. For a moment he was surrounded by sinewy limbs.

“I’ll see you later. I might make a surprise visit this week, who knows.”

“Oh no.”

“I want to see how the set looks.”

“Right…” Patroclus said as he moved to the door slowly, but he was smiling. “Tell your father thank you for having me?”

“I will.”

Patroclus turned at the top of the stairs. “I like it when you come by for lunch. I would do the same, but I’m always so busy.”

“Good, I like coming for lunch too.”

“I’m buying next time.”

Achilles leaned against the doorframe, propped on one elbow and watched him go. Patroclus was grinning to himself all the way down the drive, trying not to think of the hours of homework he still had to finish.


	5. Chapter 5

When Achilles came in to the theatre, it was no longer empty, despite it being lunch hour. It seemed as if everyone else was now in a rush to get everything done before opening, and the set was up and buzzing with activity as several students armed with spray cans finished graffiti-ing the freshly painted walls, while others put up the wallpaper in the interior of the shop that took centre stage.

Achilles slipped around the wings, and spotted Patroclus sitting at a hastily constructed table out in the house. He and the drama teacher were bent over paperwork, alternatively checking a monitor while Patroclus manipulated the board, punching in commands. Achilles took an empty seat and waited until they finished, fiddling with his phone. When the drama teacher finally left, Achilles made his way over to him. Patroclus smiled at him, despite how wrecked he looked, interlocking both his hands on the back of his head while he leaned back in his seat. He had faint purple circles under his eyes, which themselves look a bit watery.

“How goes it?”

“It goes. I think we’ll manage to scrape by for Friday. What is today again?”

“Wednesday. I count more than seven up there. Where did all these people come from?”

“Oh, the drama teacher forces the actors to come and help when we start to get really fucked,” Patroclus said, rubbing at his face. “Nice pants, by the way.”

Achilles was wearing the jeans he had gone to paint the set in a week and a half ago, the red streak now permanently stained on the rear.

“I kind of like them,” Achilles said, twisting round to examine them. “They kind of say, ‘this ass is off limits.’ I brought you a sandwich,” Achilles said, placing a bag on the table.

“Thank you, but I’m not even hungry. I just need a nap.”

“How much sleep have you been getting?”

“I managed to get four and a half last night. That’s best out of three. I just want to open this fucker already.” He perked up suddenly. “Hey, do you want to see the puppets? They finally came in on Monday.” Patroclus stood and led him out of the theatre through a side door, across the hallway and in to a classroom that was taken over by the theatre department via the process of osmosis. Heaped in the centre was a hideous yellow and green sack made of fabric with large red lips, covered in what look like boils as well as various floppy tendrils.

“That’s plant number four. Here, I’ll show you,” Patroclus crawled into the puppet from the back and picked up the pvc pipe jaws that were cleverly hidden inside the fabric. He proceeded to manipulate the lower jaw up and down.

“Omnomnom, I’m Patroclus, I’m so tired I turned into a gross plant puppet that eats every student that manages to get 8 hours sleeeeep…”

“That’s pretty cool,” Achilles said, stepping forward to examine inside the mouth. Patroclus pretended to eat him. “It looks pretty cosy in there, I bet you could take a nap in there and no one would notice,” Achilles continued.

“It smells like your gross ballet studio in there,” Patroclus said, re-emerging, his hair adorably mussed. “I pity the poor kid who has to stay in there for twenty minute intervals. Come on, I know a better sleeping spot.”

Patroclus led him downstairs and down a long hallway that Achilles guessed ran under the stage. He unlocked a set of double doors and led them into a cramped room completely stuffed with furniture and various set dressings. There were 1950’s style barstools, bedside tables, chairs, a fake plug in firepit, tree stumps with moss stapled to them, a garden arch covered in plastic flowers, bags full of paper mache rocks, all manner of junk that had accumulated from god knew how many shows. There was also an ornate queen sized bed frame with the headboard painted garishly gold propped up sideways along the wall, complete with mattress. Patroclus slid the mattress down to the cement floor with a thump that raised a cloud of dust.

“How many theatre kids do you reckon have had sex down here?” Achilles asked.

“We try not to think about that. Whatever you do, just don’t ever take a blacklight to this mattress.”

“Eugh!”

“It’s colloquially known as ‘The Sex Bed,’ actually. High school teenagers can be so creative.”

Patroclus laid his jacket down on the mattress and curled up into a ball on top of it.

“I’m sorry, you came over here to have lunch and I’m afraid I’m going to become very boring in a few minutes,” Patroclus said as he set an alarm on his phone while laying sideways.

“That’s okay, I have to be at the studio in an hour anyways,” Achilles said as he climbed over him on all fours and lay down on his back next to him, arms underneath his head. Patroclus closed his eyes and within an instant he was asleep, his exhaustion overcoming him.

When his alarm went off and he blearily opened his eyes, Achilles was gone. His thick wool pea coat however was covering him. It made his stomach feel strangely hollow. He sat up and stuck his arms into the sleeves properly, wrapping the coat around him and inhaling guiltily. It smelled so strongly of Achilles it was almost overwhelming; it smelled of his pretentious cologne, of his body, of what was probably his shampoo, it was a warm safe smell, a smell he kind of wanted to drown in if he was being dramatic.

 _You are in trouble_ , he said to himself.

 

 

 

Curtain was in an hour and Patroclus was running through his light cues when his phone rang. It was Achilles.

"Can I see you before the show? I brought you an opening night gift."

"What why?"

"Don't get too excited. It's tradition, isn’t it?"

“Among the cast and crew, yeah.”

“Well consider me an honorary crew member. You can put me down as catering for the light designer in the playbill.”

“Very funny. Meet me in the lobby at 5.45.”

 

The lobby was full of a press of people already, as it was opening. Keeping one foot in the door to backstage, Patroclus scanned the crowd, spotting Achilles’ golden head easily, and beckoned him over. He took his hand and led him through the door, into the narrow stark hallway.

“Break a leg,” Achilles said, and he produced a small vaguely phallic shaped cactus draped in miniature battery operated christmas lights from behind his back.

Patroclus let the air out that he was holding in and grinned.

"You got me a penis cactus, how thoughtful!"

"It's not a penis, you dirty bastard it's Seymour, from the show! They were out of the flesh eating variety, so I had to settle."

“Ooh, I get it, and the lights are..for the show, got it. Thanks!” he hugged him hurriedly. “I’ve got to run, unfortunately, or the stage manager is going to skin me. Hey, we’re all going out to dinner after the show, do you want to come?”

“I’d love to.”

“I hope you don’t mind playing sardines, we have limited cars, so it’s usually a bit squishy,” he said as he backed away down the hallway.

 

 

“Patroclus, I don’t know if you have counted, but there are nine of us here.”

Achilles was standing in the cold around Patroclus’ modest Volvo after the show, his hands stuck into his armpits despite his thick coat.

“I told you we all squeeze in.” Patroclus flashed him a grin.

“This is nothing, our record is eleven,” a boy standing next to him said. Achilles presumed he was a cast member due to his heavy eye makeup, yet then again someone in the interim has done Patroclus’ eye make-up too. He was sporting bright blue eyeshadow and catwing eyeliner, not unlike most of the crew it seemed. The boy extended his hand and introduced himself as Dion.

“All right, who’s the corpse?” Patroclus said over the chatter.

“Meee,” a rather short boy said, and climbed into the boot of the car.

“If you get claustrophobic, I take no liability,” Patroclus said and shut the hatch carefully.

“You can’t be serious,” Achilles said.

“Serious as a heart attack. Achilles, you’re up front. Dion is the next tallest so he gets shotgun. The rest of you, pile in.”

One girl ended up curled into a ball at the feet of everyone in back, while the rest made do. Achilles, wedged between Dion and Patroclus, was forced to straddle the gearshift awkwardly, making Patroclus have to reach between his legs every time he had to shift gears.

“I don’t think this is strictly legal,” Achilles said nervously, looking over his shoulder at everyone squeezed into the three seats as they speed across town.

Patroclus only smirked in reply, and turned the volume up on the dashboard, making the speakers vibrate with the bass line. They were serenaded by bad rap music all the way across town. Fortunately the restaurant they were going to wasn’t far.

When they got to the car park and piled out, the other car arrived a minute later as they were still extricating themselves, and drunk on what Achilles hoped was only euphoria made several careening passes around them until they pulled up next to Patroclus’ car to the jeering and hollering of everyone riding with them. Achilles found himself grinning, and he realised he hasn’t stopped grinning since he left the theatre.

In the restaurant, which was in fact a low end pub, their volume slowly rose steadily as they all tried to hear one another over everyone else’s chatter, and one of the actors had to constantly stand up and shush them periodically to remind everyone to keep it down: even though they were seated in the non-alcoholic section their sound carried as only the voices of thespians could. Patroclus split a bowl of potato wedges with Achilles, which was constantly under attack from the nimble fingers of various cast and crew mates. They did what any teenagers do when unattended in a restaurant: they gossiped, they recounted the recent exploits of their batshit insane drama teacher, they made caterpillars out of bendy straw wrappers, they crammed onion rings into their mouths.

Afterwards, Patroclus had to drop every kid off at their house, resulting in another careening ride around the city. Achilles was the last, being on the edge of town. Patroclus pulled up slowly in front of his house and turned the engine off. He turned to look at him. One of his eyeliner points was smudged down his cheek.

“I had a lot of fun tonight. Probably more fun than I’ve had in six months,” Achilles said to him, looking down in the direction of his hands in his lap almost ashamedly, then back up at him. His gaze was very intense, and the air seemed very still the way it always is when sitting inside a car after it had been in motion and it is very late at night. Achilles was looking at him, seemingly looking for something in him, and for a moment Patroclus wondered what it was. Then his gaze flicked down to his lips, and he knew, Patroclus knew with every hair on his body. He felt his heart pick up, could feel it thudding in his veins. Patroclus was staring at the other boy’s lips too, he could not help it.

Achilles hesitated, then leaned across the seat towards him.

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod-_

He tilted his head and pressed his lips to his gently. Patroclus quickly shut his eyes, something telling him that this is what he was supposed to do when someone kisses you. Just as his brain had finished processing that this was really happening, those soft warm lips were pulling away.

“Thank you,” Achilles whispered, and it took Patroclus a moment to realise that he was thanking him for taking him out with them to the pub, not for kissing him.

“That’s okay,” Patroclus croaked.

“See you Sunday?” Achilles asked, slipping the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Um, yeah,” Patroclus said, feeling like the planet had ground to a halt and suddenly started to spin the other way. After the door shut he sat there for a moment, then picked up his phone and dialed Briseis.

“Can I come over?” was the first thing he said to her.

“You do realise it is after midnight?”

“Oh. Sorry. I mean, you don’t have anything on tomorrow do you?”

“Just this mid-semester project I’m trying to finish. I hate group projects.”

“So I didn’t wake you?”

“No, I was awake. What is going on? How was the show?”

“It was fine.”

“Oh good, you know I’m coming next week, I won’t be as busy.” She paused. “Does this have to do with Achilles?”

“No! Maybe. Yes.”

He heard her sigh over the phone. “Come over.”

 

When Patroclus came through the back door, he was greeted by the smell of pancakes. Briseis was standing in the kitchen, bathrobe over her pajamas, armed with a spatula.

“So what happened?”

Patroclus slid into a seat and despondently pulled a pancake onto a plate, and started to pull it apart with his fingers.

“He kissed me,” he mumbled

“I thought as much might’ve happened.”

Patroclus looked up. “You did?”

Briseis shut the stove off and sat down next to him. Her eyes looked especially kind.

“You haven’t rang up and asked to come over this late for a very long time. I knew he was there tonight. I knew something would come to a head, you two have been hanging out so much.”

Patroclus continued to pick at his food.

“So? How was it?”

He looked up and sighed. “Fine. It was very brief. More of a kiss goodnight than anything.”

“And you wanted more?”

“No! Well, yes, but that’s not the point. I feel like I’m freaking out. I don’t know what his ulterior motives are. Or what he sees in me.”

“Sounds like you two need to have a talk, make sure you’re on the same page. I’m sure he sees the same things in you that I do. Honey, if I didn’t see you as a brother, I’d want to date you too.”

Patroclus wobbled mentally.

“I’m worried that I’ve been distracted by his looks. I mean, we both know how he is.”

“You like hanging out with him, spending time with him, don’t you? You’ve told me as much.”

“I’m scared that I like him,” Patroclus said under his breath. “He’s such an egocentric prick,” he said venomously.

“He’s also kind, and he listens, and he brings you food when you’re stressed. He cares about you.”

Patroclus dug his hands into his hair and made a sound that sounded like “Blehh.”

Briseis put the butter and eggs back into the fridge and turned to him. “Patroclus. Did you like kissing him?”

“Yes,” Patroclus squeaked.

“Would you like to kiss him again?”

“Yes.”

“Hold him up against a wall and ravish his-“

“BRISEIS!”

“Then I wouldn’t overthink it too much. Why don’t you just keep things simple for now?”

“What if I get too involved?”

She shrugged. “Then you get involved. Patroclus, opening your heart up to someone is terrifying. I know, I’ve been there. But it’s also really, really nice. ”

Patroclus folded his arms on the counter and laid his head down upon them. He groaned.


	6. Chapter 6

It was late afternoon when he got to Achilles' house just as it appeared he was leaving. The weekend had gone by torturously slowly, yet he had forced himself to finish his school work before he had gone over there, because he had a sense, or at least he hoped that it would be very hard to pick his schoolwork up again afterwards.

Achilles smiled at him brightly when he saw him, so at least that was something.

“Hello,” he said, as he shut the door behind him. He was wearing his wool pea coat and a scarf the colour of blood wrapped around his neck that made him look rather dashing.

“Heyi,” Patroclus said.

Achilles cocked his head at him. “Was that a mix of ‘hey’ and ‘hi?’”

“For allegorical reasons sure. Where are you off to?”

“Oh, I was just going to go for a walk while I waited for you. I was feeling a bit-“

“Antsy?”

“Mm. How are you?” Achilles asked, turning to him and searching his face.

“Good. Fine. How are you?”

“Yeah, good….”

They moved off down the street. They weren’t ten paces when Patroclus got to what was burning a hole in his brain.

“You left so quickly the other night,” Patroclus said hurriedly, hoping that he could hear the unspoken _why?_ before Achilles began talking about his practice, or the weather, or some other mundane subject he couldn’t bear to discuss at a time like this to delay the inevitable.

“Yes, well, I didn’t want to seem over eager, I guess.”

“You don’t…have to worry about that,” Patroclus managed to say.

“Good, because I’d very much like to do it again soon.”

“Me too,” Patroclus heard himself say.

Achilles stopped walking. He was doing that face searching thing again with his eyes that drove him mad.

“Look, Patroclus, I don’t want you to get the feeling I am yanking your chain or anything, because I’m not. I very much like the idea of kissing you, and kissing only you, for a very long time. But I just need to know- that is, I wanted to make sure that that was something you wanted too. If I’ve been wrong-“

“No, no. I like the idea of that. Very much. I hereby give you permission to kiss me whenever you’d like.”

“Good. Me too.”

They moved off down the street. “You know I often forget I am older than you,” Patroclus said.

“In body, not in mind.”

“Hey!”

“You know I almost kissed you, in my room, that first day you came over.”

Patroclus closed his eyes briefly. “I know.”

“I wanted to, very badly. But I read something on your face, in your eyes. I don’t think you were ready.”

“It was too soon. I think I needed more time. Thank you. For waiting then.”

 

 

When they got back up to Achilles’ room, he was feeling decidedly nervous, so Patroclus did the first thing he could think of and toed off his shoes before crawling into Achilles bed without hesitation, burying himself into the covers like he was coming home. Achilles stood there awkwardly for a moment before Patroclus flopped an arm out, reaching for him. Grinning, Achilles removed his coat and scarf and lifted the covers. Patroclus moved over and turned over. They lay there, heads on the pillows and they stared at each other for several moments. Then Patroclus lowered his forehead to thump it against his warm chest. He closed his eyes. Patroclus felt him burrow one arm underneath his pillow and reemerge to wrap around his upper back. Achilles pulled his duvet cover up higher so that they were in a nest of warmth. They stayed that way for some time. It was nice, there were no implications. It didn’t feel like either of them were waiting for the other to start something.

Patroclus hummed contentedly and soon he found the waves of sleep were washing over him.

 

When he awoke, the sun was disappearing behind the trees, and darkness was setting in. He was lying face down, half on top of Achilles who was on his back, nose in his hair.

His phone was vibrating insistently, and it took him a moment to realise that this was what had woken him.

He groaned and climbed over Achilles who made an indignant noise at having all the air being driven out of his body by an ill placed elbow. Patroclus did everything possible to stay on the bed while still reaching for his bag. Finally managing to grab it, he yanked it over and quickly pulled his phone out, cursing.

“I’m sorry, Nan, I completely lost track of time,” Patroclus said upon answering. Achilles could just hear the tinny voice on the other end.

“No, I had dinner over here. We’re working on this group project due tomorrow. I told you about it, remember? The ecology one?”

A pause as the tinny voice came through.

“Yeah, I did. Yes. Hey, would it be okay if I just spent the night over here? It’s just this thing-“

“Yes, I- No, I know. Okay. Yeah this project thing is a lot more intensive than I thought, and I just want to get it done.”

Pause. “I will. Okay. Love you too, bye.”

Patroclus shut off his phone and put it on the bedside table. Supporting himself on one arm, he looked down at Achilles, who was lying flat on his back, staring up at him, one arm bent at the elbow and laying palm up on the pillow next to his head. His golden hair was loose around his shoulders, splayed around his head in the dim light.

“Well aren’t you just full of lies,” Achilles said, his voice low. Patroclus leaned down and kissed him softly in response, bending his arm to bring himself down to the mattress.

They kissed tenderly, with all the tentativeness of young people exploring each other’s skin for the first time. Achilles brought his hand up to cradle the back of Patroclus’ neck, his fingers creeping into his hair. Patroclus was finding it difficult as he kept smiling against his mouth. Patroclus reached behind him and pulled the covers back up to their shoulders, re-enveloping them in warmth. He made a surprised sound when Achilles lips opened tentatively, caressingly, and Patroclus found himself chasing after that warm wetness. He heard Achilles' breath pick up, which did things to his libido. The softness of tongues meeting was another thing entirely as their lips moved in tandem.  His brain seemed to be shutting down, being taken over by something better. The heady taste of Achilles’ mouth was forcing himself to reexamine his priorities in life, because this _, this_.

He splayed his other hand over Achilles’ chest, feeling his ribs rise and fall under the soft cotton of his shirt, like a beached ship’s skeleton being washed over by the incoming tide. He felt desire light in him, a match set to a trail of gunpowder, sparkling and fizzling underneath his skin. Patroclus sighed shakily, his breath ghosting over Achilles’ face. He felt very uncomfortable in his jeans, wanted desperately to be free of them, but he was worried about the implications this would bring, so he didn’t say anything. Achilles ran the back of his fingers along his upper arm caressingly, causing a shiver to run through Patroclus involuntarily. They broke apart, and Patroclus pressed his forehead to the other boy’s shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Okay?” Achilles whispered. Patroclus nodded against his shoulder.

“Is it okay if I change into sweatpants?” Achilles asked. Patroclus nodded, and let him sit up. Achilles kissed the corner of his mouth and rose.

“Be right back,” he said, and went to the armoire briefly before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom.

Patroclus lay back and blew air out of his cheeks shakily, grateful for the moment to compose himself. He then remembered his own constricting pants and took the opportunity to unzip his jeans and wriggle out of them while he was still lying down. He flung them away just as Achilles reemerged from the bathroom.

“Woah there,” he said as they landed with a thump.

“Oops,” Patroclus said.

Achilles slid in beside him again, and propped himself on an elbow to gaze upon him.

“How’s the ecology project coming?” Achilles asked, and it took Patroclus a moment to remember.

“I’m enjoying it very much.”

“Good, me too.” Then he smiled, one corner of his mouth turning up.

“Your mouth looks like a bruised fruit, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Before Patroclus could reply, long fingers were pulling back his shirt collar and mouthing at his neck, at his collarbones, sucking at his skin.

“Mmph!” Patroclus tipped his head back, biting at his lower lip. He felt like he was sinking into the mattress, or maybe it was enveloping him itself. He wriggled, back arching momentarily as Achilles slowly, torturously made his way up his neck, covering his Adam’s apple with his lips. The heat pooling in his groin was becoming unbearable. Finally Achilles broke away to nuzzle at his skin, leaving Patroclus gasping.

“The neck thing- “ he panted. “It’s- It’s so much,” he said, swallowing. He hadn’t realised he had brought his thigh up and had been rubbing it back and forth across the mattress slowly until Achilles’ hand stilled it gently. Patroclus turned over and placed his hand on the boy’s stomach over the edge of his shirt suggestively where it had rucked up, wanting desperately to touch his skin. Achilles placed his own hand over his own in encouragement. Patroclus slid his hand underneath in the dark, feeling his concave stomach and the muscles that rippled just beneath, feeling taught warm skin, that gorgeous torso that he had seen move across the dance studio so many times like a head of wheat bending in the wind.

He wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him upright, manipulating his body so that he could pull the shirt off completely, causing Achilles to chuckle. Then Patroclus was turning him over, pushing at him to lay flat, and there was a stillness in the room as he explored his body. It was Achilles’ turn to shiver as he ran the flats of his hands over his back, feeling the muscles that shifted, occasionally digging his fingers in, causing Achilles to groan with pleasure.

He brushed the hair away from his face. Achilles’ eyes were closed, and he looked impossibly beautiful.

“Still awake?”

“Mm. Keep doing that forever.”

“What, this?” Patroclus ran his fingers over his skin lightly.

“Mm.”

“I don’t want to go to school tomorrow,” Patroclus whispered.

“Me neither,” Achilles mumbled.

“You don’t go to school.”

“Oh yeah.”

Patroclus lay down, half on top of him, shaking the curls out of his eyes as he nestled in.

“What would we do with a whole day to ourselves?” Patroclus whispered into his ear.

“I’m sure we could think of something,” Achilles muttered.

**Author's Note:**

> To keep the location ambiguous and because it's changed to modern day, I have mixed american and british terms and spelling. I hope its not distracting. Let me know what you think.


End file.
